


Garbo

by MaidintheNorth



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 13:44:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17326112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaidintheNorth/pseuds/MaidintheNorth
Summary: Patsy and Delia have returned from a round the world adventure. They have one final trip to make before they decide whether to return to London. An unexpected encounter might just have profound consequences for their future.





	1. The Fight is Over

**Author's Note:**

> I'm surprised nobody has got to this idea first after the prompt from Nurse Crane in the 2018 Christmas special. WOOF!  
> In truth this is pretty much lifted from one of the later chapter summaries I had for Dealing with Facades but I thought I'd see how it fared as a one shot and now the one shot is getting longer and longer so I thought I would post the first part.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy and Delia must take a trip to Scotland.

Delia watched from across the table as Patsy’s fingers twitched against the edge of the letter. The crease across the middle was a thick line, Delia could see the many veins spreading from the centre created from so many times being folded and unfolded. Patsy’s face was impassive as her blue eyes scanned from left to right over the familiar words but Delia noticed an almost imperceptible rise of the right eyebrow. She reached out her feet, pointing them until she could rest the edge of her foot against the smooth of the other woman’s ankle bone. The contact made Patsy raise her eyes in question.

‘Are you okay, Pats?’ Delia’s voice was warm, rich with the singsong of her Welsh roots despite so many years away from the Pembrokeshire coast on which she had spent her childhood.

‘Fine, quite fine, thank you.’ The reply was curt, more brusque than Patsy intended and her left eye squinted into a wince of apology. ‘Sorry old thing, I just can’t seem to settle.’

Delia responded with a half smile as Patsy folded the letter along its well worn line, handed it across the space between them, her hands disappeared from view and tugged at the hem of her skirt before letting her long fingers rest on the nylon covering her knees. Tucking the letter inside her handbag on the train seat beside her Delia chewed for a moment on her bottom lip before responding, the clasp of her bag providing a welcome reason to avoid eye contact.

‘I’m still not sure why we had to come all this way. Poplar’s a lot closer than Glasgow to Southampton. I feel I ought to have bought shares in British Railways. We could have just gone home. We could have even gone to my parents.’

Patsy’s eyes widened like an owl’s, her eyebrows knitting.

‘Deels we have been through this. I am not even sure that Poplar, Nonnatus, London, any of it, really is home anymore. We could hardly pitch up at the doors of a convent after two years away on a round the world trip and declare ourselves in need of charity. And I promise we will go to Wales. Next time there is a really warm day.’ Patsy paused and her lip curled. ‘In January.’

The woman opposite rolled her eyes and cocked her head to one side. The ghost of an exasperated smile passed across her features. She pushed the bag to one side, the leather creaked slightly as she leant against it to lean forward.

‘You are infuriating Patsy Mount.’

Patsy glanced around the rest of the almost empty carriage before she leant forward. Her voice was more silent than a whisper.

‘You love me though.’

The remainder of the journey was quiet. Delia read and Patsy leaned her head so that her gaze was directed at the slate grey of the passing sky. Occasionally, she lit a cigarette but the movements were automatic and mechanical, the trim nail of her ring finger flicking anxiously against the tip of her thumb as the paper of the cigarette burnt between her fore and middle fingers. Delia watched these movements with quiet concern. Her own fingers itched to reach out and still the anxiety, to salve the worry with a simple act of love but she knew that any physical display of affection made Patsy jolt like a marionette yanked from its box. 

When the carriage juddered to a halt Patsy had fallen asleep and she awoke with a tiny surprised exhalation of breath that sounded like panic, her eyes flying open. Delia smiled across the table, a large teal coat taut across her chest. She stood and shuffled around the table, stooping slightly, picking up Patsy’s long woollen coat from its resting place on the seat beside the taller woman and shaking it out as the carriage began to come alive.

‘Come on sleepyhead. We’re here.’

Patsy gave a grateful half smile as she shrugged into the proffered coat.

‘What would I do without you Busby?’

‘Luckily for you you’ll never have to find out,’ responded Delia as she used the flat of her hand to smooth against the panels of Patsy’s coat. The material was thick and the action entirely unnecessary, but Delia wanted to let Patsy know that she was there, an emotional and physical presence.

As Delia stood beneath the imposing four faced clock hanging from the vast ironwork ceiling struts, a throng of moving people around her, she let the plastic handle of her suitcase drop and heard the clatter of the metal trim hit the platform concrete below.

‘Deels, are you well?’

‘Yes, sorry. I got distracted. I just didn’t imagine Glasgow to be beautiful.’

Patsy gave a harrumph in response before drawing in her breath and pushing back her shoulders. She attempted to keep her voice cheerful but her jaw was set and her words tumbled over one another, her tongue catching thickly on the roof of her mouth.

‘Come on, we’ll need to get a cab. Anna-Marie, Mrs Hardwick, lives just outside the city I believe, or up on the hill near the university, or something. I have the address on the letter. Well, you have the letter. So, I suppose, really, you have the address and not I.’

Delia didn’t move. She reached out, grasped Patsy by the wrist where a sliver of pale flesh crept out between cuff and the end of the elegant leather gloves the older woman had pulled on. Patsy gave a rueful smile and stared at her feet. She reached her free hand across without shifting her eyes and Delia felt the peculiar softness of gloved fingers graze the back of her hand.

‘I’m here,’ said Delia, softly. ‘Remember, wherever you go next, I’m coming with you. Always.’ The words were an echo of a time past, a time that felt lost to Patsy now. She had said them, or an approximation of them, to Delia at one of the lowest moments of her life. Everything she knew had turned on its head, she had left her job as a district midwife in the East End of London, left Delia to cope in a world where she could tell nobody how alone she was, left a world where she felt safe and accepted because her poise, professionalism and uniform gave a her a protected status where nobody asked too many questions. All of that had been forsaken to travel to the other side of the globe to nurse a dying father who held her hand and talked softly of a mother and a sister lost in the horrors of war and who were buried in a cleft of Patsy’s brain she rarely prised open. When the inevitable happened and death claimed the last member of her family Patsy had shattered. The fragile, porcelain peace she had made with herself about her life smashed into fragments of grief, rage, loneliness, memory and disappointment. She was suddenly in possession of what felt like vast wealth, a house and staff in Hong Kong and a flat near a vast, noisy stretch of the Clyde and as that new ownership became a reality she had lost any sense of her own identity. Only one thing remained constant and she was waiting, alone and insensible to the emotional cataclysm occurring six thousand miles away. Patsy had fled, to disapproving mutterings from the ex-pat community, her suitcase heavier by the weight of a manila folder full of pressing financial affairs and she had boarded the first boat that would take her back to Delia, even if she knew it could not take her back to her old life. So, six months after she had left, with the first, wet flakes of winter catching her eye lashes and making her uncertain if it was the weather or unbidden emotion wetting her cheeks she had stood before a furious, hurt Delia whose every gesture wreaked of abandonment and told her that where ever she decided to go she was taking Delia with her. In the subsequent year of world travel, ‘you’re coming with me’ had become a byword, a form of code; a light-hearted shared moment on the way to buying a bus ticket and a laden, charged reassurance when times were more challenging. Now, stood beneath the suspended clock at Glasgow Central Station Patsy wondered, for the first time, if she had made a terrible decision, if selfishness not love had driven her to drag Delia across the globe whilst she attempted to make sense of nearly three decades of hurt.

Patsy forced herself to look at Delia, suddenly awkward like a shy child. Her face tilted upwards to allow for the several inches in height difference Delia’s stance and countenance was a fierce mixture of loyalty, defiance, concern and openhearted love. Patsy smiled. She remembered once chastising Delia for the way she looked at her; for suggesting that the world would guess their secret, that nobody looked at another living soul the way Delia looked at her without raising suspicions. Now she was grateful for the patient, genuine spirit that was the fuel for her very being. She desperately wanted to take Delia in her arms and whisper how she felt into the waiting shell of the woman beside her but she contented herself with a firm squeeze of the fingers that still rested on her forearm.

‘I’m quite alright. Honestly Deels. It just all seems rather, well, real. I know we have had a splendid time this last year and it had to come to an end sometime but I do so wish we could have simply carried on. You and I against the world.’

Delia pressed her fingers into the wrist, pushing against the resistance of wool and leather. She spoke slowly, her voice low and earnest.

‘It isn’t a fight Patsy. You don’t need to fight anymore. Come on, let’s go and find your Mrs Hardwick.’ Delia smiled and dropped her hand. ‘Hopefully she already has the kettle on the stove.’


	2. Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy realises she has some significant decision to make and Delia is her usual charming self.

‘Can you drive us to, er, Delia?’ Patsy’s polished accent sounded utterly incongruous in the sea of Glaswegian on the broad sweep of road outside the steps of the station. Delia edged forward so that she was level with Patsy’s shoulder.

‘Marsden Street, please. Thank you,’ said Delia giving the taxi man a smile that creased her eyes.

‘Welcome tae Glasgae Miss and Miss’ said the slim, wiry figure stood in a smart suit that was oddly contrasted by the slightly battered Morris Oxford beside which he stood. He tipped his hat in an exaggerated manner and Patsy wondered briefly if he were mocking them. He stepped forward and in an easy single movement he took the two cases the women held. He nodded to the car. ‘I’ll just…’

‘Thank you,’ said Delia warmly and without waiting for the driver to finish bundling their luggage into the cab she edged to the car and wrenched open the door and gestured to Patsy to step inside.

‘Are ye the hired help wee lassie?’ asked the man as he closed the boot and twisted the fading chrome into place. He stepped into the road and moved sideways towards the driver’s door, maintaining eye contact with Delia over the black roof.

‘What? No! I’m, well, we’re friends.’ Delia felt herself redden. No matter how much time she spent with Patsy she never felt adequate to the task of safely explaining their relationship to the outside world without feeling as though she was deceitful. To Delia’s complete surprise the man winked at her.

‘Ye seem an unlikely pair; if ye fancy a true weegie tae shae ye the sights then ahl be’n the rank tamorra.’

‘That’s very nice of you, but we have things we need to do, while we are here. It’s not really a holiday,’ replied Delia, her blush deepening further, as she slid into the car and reached for the handle to pull the door into its catch. She felt, rather than saw, Patsy’s eyes boring into her face as she settled into the seat and pushed her handbag to the floor.

‘Did that man just proposition you?’ hissed Patsy furiously across the gap between the two seats. ‘I am going to give him a piece of my mind.’

The tall woman, her vivid copper hair striking against the beige leather work, straightened herself and Delia saw her jaw set as she began to lean forward to tap the oblivious driver on the shoulder. As she raised her hand Patsy was stunned to find Delia’s fingers weaving into her own and she breathed a little ‘oh’ of surprise and fear as Delia shifted sideways and bending almost double pressed her lips against the flat, smooth skin just beneath Patsy’s knuckles before placing her now limp hand into her lap.

‘You sound like Nurse Crane, but I don’t need a Praetorian guard, I can cope. He was just being friendly.’ Delia’s voice was low but warm with humour as she stretched even further across the seat and looked directly at Patsy, blue eyes dancing. ‘I rather like Jealous Pats though.’

Delia sat back in her seat and smiled out of the window as she heard Patsy clear her throat and the driver shout above the noise of the engine.

‘Nae long naw. The corpy’s building a motorway so it’s all a b’mad up the West End.’

‘Don’t worry,’ called Delia. ‘We’re quite alright back here.’

Delia peered at the piece of paper in her hand as she stood on the pavement, a suitcase either side of her small frame, whilst Patsy paid the cab driver with as much good grace as she could muster. The hum of trolley buses filled the air, punctured by bells, and people thronged between them, spilling from the pavement into the road like grain from a split bag. The street was an unbroken line of towering tenements in a deep sandstone red that appeared to warm the steel grey sky into which they reached.

‘The cabbie chap said we needed to find a tiled close - whatever that is - next to Wishart Grocer,’ said Patsy brightly, approaching Delia from behind and standing alongside her to gaze up at the foreboding façade of hundreds of Glaswegian houses. ‘Or at least I think that’s what he said, I suspect he and I were almost mutually incomprehensible. Whereas, I am sure you, with your provincial origins, felt quite at home.’

Delia laughed, a wide smile splitting her face and she pointed an elbow into the area of Patsy’s ribs.

‘Watch it Mount, you can go off a person you know.’ Delia’s eyes tracked down the street until they rested on a fabric awning over a shop front. She gave a triumphant ‘aha’, secured her handbag over her shoulder and picked up both suitcases. ‘Wisharts! Come on!’

They climbed a never-ending staircase, their heavy footsteps echoing from floor to floor and the cold air catching in their chests as lungs expanded to accommodate the effort.

‘I feel like I am back on the Isle of Dogs; clearly I was much fitter then, I need to be careful or my figure will go entirely to seed. I need some of Trixie’s famed exercise classes. In her last letter, the one we picked up in Sorrento, she told me she is going to restart them once she gets back to Nonnatus. Perhaps we can both go.’ Patsy paused, for breath and a moment of reflection, on a broad landing. ‘If we go back.’

‘I think this is us,’ said Delia, squinting at a tiny name plaque screwed into the brickwork. ‘And for the record I don’t think there is anything wrong with your figure, though I won’t object to you donning that leotard again.’

‘Delia!’

Preventing any further discussion by seizing the large door knocker screwed into the green panels Delia rapped it hard against the metal base so that the noise rang out like Sunday bells throughout the cavernous stairwell.

A small, bird like woman with greying bob and winged glasses appeared at the door and greeted Delia warmly, ushering her inside. Patsy bent and seized her suitcase again, pausing for a moment to let her eyes trace the familiar cyphers on the door plate. Frederick Gabriel Mount. She sighed and followed Delia into the large entrance hall. Her feet clicked against the herringbone tiles, the red oblongs warm and comforting after the grey of the huge staircase.

‘Come in, come away in,’ called Mrs Hardwick, she stood in the space of a wide door frame, her hands picked nervously at a cloth spotted with gravy slung over her right shoulder. ‘I wasn’t sure what time you would arrive so I have put a stew in the oven and I have been keeping a pot of tea on the top of the range.’

‘Oh Mrs Hardwick, you have made my day,’ exclaimed Delia.

‘Nan,’ said Mrs Hardwick, guiding them into a generous sitting room, her accent a softer patter than that of the taxi man. ‘Call me Nan, I don’t much like Mrs Hardwick, reminds me of my mother in law.’

‘Yes, well, nobody wants that,’ said Patsy absent-mindedly as she gazed around the room, awe-stuck at the huge ceilings and elegant soft furnishings. She felt a finger in the small of her back and realised what she had said.

‘Sorry Deels’ she muttered sheepishly before turning her broadest social smile on Mrs Hardwick.

‘Mrs Hardwick, Nan, this is my friend Delia. We really are so grateful you have put so much effort into making sure the old place looks so good. I had no idea my father even kept a flat in Glasgow.I was aware that he had offices here, that he visited before the war, before he married Mother and they moved to the East.’

‘Well it’s yours now Miss Mount. I was glad to look after it for your family whilst it was tenanted, but it will be lovely to see it as a Mount residence again,’ said Nan warmly. ‘Lovely to meet you both, I’ll go and sort that tea.’

‘Oh, we haven’t, I haven’t, decided what I am doing with the flat yet,’ said Patsy but Nan was gone, disappeared into a further room. ‘It is lovely though, isn’t it Deels?’

Delia gave a weak smile.

‘I might go and help Nan, I really need a brew. And then I think we should go for a walk. We have a lot to talk about.’

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia and Patsy plan their future but find themselves interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter just got longer and longer so I have reedited to make the story a four parter. I hope you will forgive the fact that this is all plot and no fluff - the fluff will come I promise. 
> 
> And sincere apologies to any Scots, this is an affectionate portrayal of Glasgow and the accent, I truly love your city but phonetics are harder than they look!

Even in the gloaming the sheer size of the thing was impressive. It was several times bigger than any of the cranes that had nestled side by side on the docksides of Poplar, or in any of the ports that they had seen on their travels.

‘I feel like it needs a name,’ said Delia, rolling her neck after peering up at the enormous structure. ‘And don’t say Phyllis. She was a good friend to me.’

‘You are a sentimental old fool, the dock is called Finniston so I suspect that’s its name – Finn’ said Patsy affectionately. She paused, gave a short cough. ‘And I don’t want you to think that I tricked you up here. I didn’t know that Nan was going to assume we would live here.’

‘You, Patsy, she assumes you will live here,’ sighed Delia.

‘Moot point Busby, wherever I am, you are,’ said Patsy firmly. ‘But I mean it. I came here to put the last of my father’s affairs in order. And yes, I could have just telephoned from London but it felt oddly right to come and see where he began as a shipbroker after his brother inherited Thunacar. I just didn’t expect to like the place as much as I do.’

‘You can really see us living here? In that flat?’

‘Can’t you?’ Patsy’s voice was small in the approaching dark, Delia’s heart ached. There were no words between them for several moments and the clanking of anchor chains striking the dockside was the only sound. There was nobody else around and Delia thought for a moment about pulling Patsy to her, burying her face into the lapels of her coat. She was utterly conflicted. She knew with the certainty of love that Patsy’s assertion was right, she never wanted to be separated again, wherever Patsy went Delia would follow. Yet throughout their year and more of exploration Delia had kept Poplar in her heart, she had sat her midwifery exams and passed them mere weeks before Dr Turner had ferried her and Patsy to the river to catch a steamer that would send them to the coast and then the whole world beyond. She had kept a flame of hope burning within her that she would pin the badge of Raymond Nonnatus to her collar and serve alongside her friends in the East End London borough she had grown to love as she grew to love the woman beside her. Patsy, lost in the web of grief and inheritance had to find her way through more complex issues, but for Delia it had been simple.

The shorter woman took a short step, she opened her mouth to speak, the huge anchor chains strained as an eddy in the purple swell of the Clyde eased a nearby ship away from the huge bollards, upright like saluting sailors. There was a moment. The dusk slipped further into night. Patsy’s eyes closed as she fought to maintain her emotional equilibrium.

‘Patsy, I,’ began Delia, she raised a hand and her fingers caught the edges of the taller woman’s coat, she felt the fibres, coarse and yielding under her gloveless skin. From behind them came a persistent pounding, boots striking the ground and the echo bouncing like a threat from the curved sides of the nearest cargo boat. The two women sprang apart. Delia’s heart thudded against her ribs, the surge of adrenaline coursing through her on top of the fluttering anxiety she had already felt left her body suddenly weak as she caught sight of a figure windmilling towards them through the charcoal light.

‘Help! Help me! Fur God’s sake, cannae naebody geasa sum help?’ The man was huge, he was almost a foot taller than Patsy, dressed in enormous dirty overalls smeared with the grease and scuff so familiar to both women from seeing the stevedores and porters toiling where they had once lived. The man registered the presence of Patsy and Delia and stopped, dropping his hands to his knees and panting painfully between words ‘Oh, thank sweet Jesus, kin ye help me? Kin ye gae git sum help?’

‘What’s the matter? Tell us what the trouble is sir?’ Patsy’s clipped consonants sounded almost obscene after the tumbling dialect and the man’s eyes widened in surprise, he straightened and nodded his head in an attempted show of deference. ‘Ah am sorry to botha ye but it’s ma lassie, I think she’s havin’ a babby. We came oot fur a walk and nae she’s greetin her heed ouf and saying she’s naw going hame. Can ye gae git sum help?’

‘I think we can do better than that Mr?’ Delia put her hand on his bicep as she spoke and he looked down at her, confusion spread across his reddened, sweating features.

‘Ahm Angus. Angus Allen’

‘We are midwives Mr Allen. Where is your wife?’ said Delia, kindly, the slightest incline of her head to encourage him to respond. He looked between the two women incredulously but jerked his head back in the direction from which he had emerged from the shadows.

‘Ah left her on a bench nae fae from hame,’ said Angus. ‘Follow me.’

Delia and Patsy heard the cries before they saw their unexpected patient. The woman was gripping the back of a wrought iron public bench, she was kneeling, resting on the very edge of the long, wooden slats so her feet stuck out awkwardly behind her.

‘Angus, where the bloody hell have you been. I thought you’d left me. I thought you’d bloody left me you great oaf.’ The woman sobbed as her husband moved swiftly to her side and she burrowed into his ample chest, striking her head against the expanse of his muscle as the pain rose again.

‘Mrs Allen? I’m Nurse Busby and this is Nurse Mount. I’m just going to have a look to see how far on you are. Is that okay?’ Delia was calm and assured and she laid a reassuring hand at the base of the straining woman’s back. Patsy moved around the bench so that she was in the eyeline of the struggling woman.

‘Can you tell me your Christian name Mrs Allen?’

‘Joyce. It’s Joyce. Pease help me,’ she pleaded, raising her sweating ashen face to meet Patsy’s searching gaze. The tall midwife smiled and nodded reassuringly. At the same moment Delia grasped the woman’s thick woollen skirts and stooped and manoeuvred until she had a clear view.

‘You’re doing really well Joyce but we have still got a bit of time and I think this baby would rather be born inside rather than on the dockside in December. What do you think to a little walk? We’ll help you. Angus told us you don’t live far?’

After vociferous protestations and eventual persuasion, the odd quartet moved slowly away from the Clyde as it pushed slowly out to Greenock and beyond. Patsy watched, her head moving from side to side, from husband to wife, as Angus steered the three women down an alley.

‘Doon the close nae and then we’re on the second floor,’ he said diffidently.

‘Not far now Mrs Allen,’ said Patsy brightly as in the dim light of the stairwell she registered a flight of shallow steps. ‘Just a little further.’

‘I’m not climbing those bloody stairs,’ whined Joyce, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. ‘I just can’t.’ Without warning she slipped from Delia’s arms and hunched against the wall , her head resting on the polished curve of a broad, wooden handrail as it ended at the foot of the stairs. Delia wasted no time, she sat down and seized the hand of the woman, looking at her earnestly as her breath came ragged and panicked like a captured animal.

‘Listen now Joyce. We are going to get you inside, get you on your bed and then Angus is going to go and get the doctor. He’ll bring you some gas and air and this whole thing will be much less painful. You’ll be meeting your baby before you know it.’ Delia smiled and then grimaced as the end of her promises were lost in an ear-splitting scream and her fingers crushed until the blood was stopped and the tips turned snow white.

‘Getting to the sharp end now, old thing,’ muttered Patsy before raising herself to full height and clasping her hands in front of her middle and addressing the gasping woman who had withdrawn into herself like a threatened snail, eyes vacant and hands resting uselessly on her distended belly. ‘Joyce, it’s really important now that we get you upstairs and help you. I’m going to help Angus get you up. Mr Allen?’

Too tired for resistance Joyce was soon leaning heavily against her own front door. Angus pushed at the wood and led the way into a dreary hallway, green paint peeling from the walls. Without warning the large, awkward figure was staggering, sprawling on a threadbare rug covering a tiled floor; a pained yelp was combined with the stream of oaths against God and man that flew from Angus’ mouth as he hauled himself back to a standing position.

‘I swear ahm gonnae droon that thing,’ he railed, rubbing at bruised elbows before pushing open a handleless woodchip door and nodding at the small bed in the centre of the room. There was a blur of movement across the hall floor. Delia felt something warm and soft push against her legs as she held Joyce, one arm tucked below a forearm and the other on the opposing bicep. The diminutive Welsh nurse froze, her heart hammered and she felt the hair at the nape of her neck prickle. She let out a hurried breath, attempting to mask her paralysing fear.

‘You’re okay, it’s all okay, it’s just a puppy, nothing to worry about.’ Patsy’s voice was soothing, the epitome of calm. Ostensibly she spoke to Joyce, but drawing close to Delia as she stood rooted to the spot on the threshold of the small bedroom, her arms still around the labouring woman, Patsy reached and laid her open fingered hand, palm firmly pressing, into the base of Delia’s back and stroked with what she hoped was enough force to be felt with her thumb. ‘Nothing to be afraid of. I won’t let anything happen to you. Let’s get you settled.’


	4. You're Coming WIth Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia and Patsy handle their first delivery but get more than they bargained for!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really though this would only be four chapters but in keeping with the length of the others I am going to post a fourth here and eek out a fifth and final chapter to this tale!

The ringing cries of the new baby filled the flat like morning light. Delia worked quickly, wrapping the mewling infant in a towel, hardened by drying on an outside clothes line in December. She gave a vigorous rub and handed the bundle to the exhausted Joyce, lying reddened and sweating, and searched for something with which to tie off the purple-white snake of the umbilical cord.

‘Sorry Pats.’ Delia’s tone was wheedling. ‘I’m going to have to have your nylons I’m afraid.’

‘Oh gosh, really? I knew it was a mistake wearing a skirt, one simply doesn’t have these issues when one wears slacks.’ Patsy huffed, kicked off her shoes and inched down her tights. She handed them over and winced when Delia ripped them violently into two. Joyce gave a tired, throaty laugh from the top of the bed, looking up from the now quietened baby.

‘You two are brilliant together. You’re like my angels. Sent from heaven. Ripped tights and all.’

Delia looked up from her final task and smiled at the new mother before she raised her eyes to Patsy and the smile spread. Patsy’s vague irritation melted away and her right cheek dimpled as a half smile crept across her tired face. There was a moment of perfect stillness before the unmistakeable whine of hunger began emanating from the moon face in the towel.

‘He’s going to be a lively one this one, arriving early like that. A right cheeky little chappie, proper tricksy,’ Joyce murmured into the space towards the complaining child, loosening her blouse to give him access to the thing that would stop the noise.

Patsy raised her eyebrows.

‘Perhaps you should call him Franklin.’

Delia gave a small bark of laughter as she busied herself cleaning away the detritus of birth and mused on how much dolly blue Joyce was going to have to use to get that bedding white again.

‘You called him tricksy,’ explained Patsy, standing up straight and gesturing towards Delia. ‘We have a friend, lively and wonderful, called Trixie. Her surname is Franklin.’

‘Only seems right that he carries something of the pair of you angels through his life,’ said Joyce warmly. ‘Franklin Angus Allen.’

Delia’s felt surprising tears prickle in her eyes. Her moment of reverie was rudely interrupted by a slamming door and an irritated bellow from the hallway beyond.

‘Tha deg is ginnea git it, Everytime ah enter mea oon hoos. Ahm din wi’ye, ye can fend fir yersel’ There was several seconds of yapping, a yelp and the sound of the front door opening and slamming once again before Angus Allen opened the door into the bedroom and stood illuminated in a square of warm light, with a small, grey faced, grey suited man at his shoulder. He pulled a cloth cap from his head and muttered, several decibels lower. ‘Ah’ve fesh the doctor.’

‘Angus?’ said Patsy, softly. ‘Meet your son.’

****

‘Ah cannae nivver thank ye enough,’ said Angus as Patsy and Delia paused on the landing outside the flat. ‘Are ye sure ye dinnea want paying?’

‘It was our pleasure Mr Allen,’ demurred Patsy, reaching to take the huge paw that was proffered. ‘Good luck.’

The door clicked into place and the two women stood for a moment. Patsy looked around, confirming that the landing was completely deserted, before taking a step towards Delia and resting her hands on the smaller woman’s hips.

‘You were absolutely magnificent. I’m so proud of you.’ She shuffled backwards, smiling shyly and heard a distressed squeal of pain. Spinning round she saw the bedraggled, untidy heap of white and grey fur that had shot past Delia in the hallway of the Allen’s flat hours previously. It was a ridiculous creature, mongrel through and through with gangling legs and a mass of unkept fur tangled around its expressive eyes.

Delia took a hurried stride backwards and pushed her shoulders into the cold paintwork. She felt her breath quicken. Patsy bent and scooped up the quivering dog, noting a similar level of vulnerable fear radiating from Delia. The small Welshwoman opened her eyes in horrified surprise as Patsy began nuzzling the dog’s ears with her cheek.

‘Hello little madam. I’m sorry I stood on you, aren’t you just lovely? Yes, you are.’

‘Patsy, please?’ pleaded Delia, warily, eying the mass of fluff in Patsy’s arms with deep suspicion. Patsy tucked a finger under the chin of the dog and tickled as she met Delia’s frightened eyes. ‘I can’t cope with them, ever since I saw that loose one kill a lamb when I was a little girl.’

‘Look at her Delia. She’s frightened, much more frightened of you than you are of her. And she gets a rotten deal from Mr Allen. Just try saying hello. I’ll keep hold of her. Just try saying hello.’ Patsy spoke quietly, edging closer to where Delia stood against the wall.

‘Hello dog.’ Delia felt faintly ridiculous but at the sound of her voice the puppy looked up and a stumpy tail beat against Patsy’s chest. Screwing up every last inch of courage Delia raised her hand and laid her fingers against the oversized ears, scratching slightly. The beat of the tail became stronger and the puppy stuck out a thin foreleg and laid its paw against Delia’s collarbone. Delia tensed but there was something oddly endearing about the action.

‘I think she should come with us,’ said Patsy in the same low, quiet voice but there was an edge of steel in her tone. Delia recognised it with a sinking feeling. ‘I can’t abide cruelty and whilst I think Mr Allen is a good man this puppy is going to have a ghastly life with him and anyway he’s thrown her out now, she’ll starve. We can take care of her until we, well, until we decide what we are going to do. Perhaps Nan could have her. But I promise you Delia, with my whole heart, that I will not let her hurt you, I wont let anything hurt you.’

Delia’s chest tightened at Patsy’s earnest tone and she spoke lightly, afraid she might cry if she didn’t attempt to change the tenor of the conversation. 

‘I have to admit you do look quite charming stood there cradling a puppy, even if it is the ugliest dog I have ever seen in my life.’

‘Come on girl, you’re coming with us,’ said Patsy to the dog in a manner that Delia knew it was pointless to contradict. The brunette nurse, tired from a long journey and the emotional voyage of a birth, was in no state to start an argument. She reached out, brushed a stray wisp from Patsy’s hair away from her eyes and behind her ear before she made for the stairs and hoped they could find their way back to Marsden Street in the cold dark of a Glasgow, December night.

 

The streets were deserted. Patsy shivered, brought one hand to her lapel and hunkered down into her coat, the puppy whined, wriggling under her other arm. Delia’s voice cut into the darkness, laced with guilt.

‘Oh Pats, you must be so cold; no tights and your hand round, er, dog.’

‘I’m quite alright, I’m more worried about this little one.’

There was a long pause. Their footsteps clicked in time down the pavement. The puppy squirmed and gave a pathetic cry. Delia swallowed hard. She gave a sharp intake of breath.

‘Do you want me to take her for five minutes, so you can get your hands warm?’

Patsy bit her lip, trying to supress the desire to laugh.

‘You are wonderful Deels but I think we’ll build up to full cuddles for you and this one. And by my reckoning we are almost home.’

Delia stilled for a moment. Patsy, surprised, halted her own steps and turned to face the smaller woman, searching her face through the gloaming in concern. The puppy, likewise, gazed at Delia through the opaque air.

‘Is that how you think of it?’ said Delia, quietly.

‘Sorry?’ questioned Patsy, chewing her lip anxiously, confused at Delia’s suddenly serious manner.

‘You said, ‘we are almost home,’ and I wondered if that is how you thought of this? This place?’ Delia paused, her words hesitant. She was glad it was dark. ‘What about London? About Nonnatus?’

‘I suppose one feels differently if one has never really had a true home,’ responded Patsy thoughtfully. ‘It is certainly the case that Nonatus House was the closest I ever felt to having a family, and once you had moved in I couldn’t imagine myself anywhere else. I was, I know, terribly good at pretending it didn’t matter, but in truth I was always rather envious of you, having a place in the world you could say was yours. I remember, the day at Easter I thought I was going to lose you all over again, before Sister Julienne offered you a room at Nonnatus, you said to me on the phone that you were catching the bus home the next day and it near squeezed the life out of my very being.’

‘I’m so sorry Pats.’ Delia’s voice caught in her throat. Patsy gave an involuntary shout of quiet laughter.

‘That’s precisely what you said that day too!’

Delia looked at her feet. She raised her right leg, drove the toe of her shoe between two cobbles and twisted so that the grit and dirt audibly scraped. She was surprised when she felt Patsy’s free hand on her hip through the thick winter coat, the space between them closed almost entirely. Delia tensed, always careful to stifle her instinctive reaction when Patsy gave any show of such public affection. The dog gave a surprised woof at finding herself between the two bodies; a noise of remarkable magnitude from such a scrap of an animal. Both women laughed as the shock made them spring apart.

‘Well whatever we are calling the flat, I rather think we should get inside before this little rabble rouser wakes the entire city,’ said Patsy, looking around at neighbouring windows for signs of life. Seeing no movement, no indication of any other people, she reached out and grazed the back of her fingers against soft skin beneath Delia’s coat cuff before stepping away into the night.


	5. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is a new beginning for Patsy, Delia and their new dog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could share with you a video of how this final chapter is being produced! I am sat on the sofa with my foster dog intermittently kicking me in the ribs with his back legs and prodding me insistently with his foreleg. It seems only fitting that the final chapter of this fic that brings us essentially up to date with canon is all about the rescue pup! I am almost sad that this is coming to an end, it has been rather nice to think about this as Season 8 has unfolded. I hope you enjoy the conclusion to this pupcake interlude.

 

‘Deels, be a trooper and fish in my pocket for the key?’ Patsy stood on the broad sweep of landing, her eyes resting again on the name plaque screwed neatly beside the door. ‘This dog is getting heavier by the moment and I simply don’t believe I am equal to the task of wrestling with her and my pockets.’

Delia stepped closer to Patsy’s woollen clad back, shoulders distinctly more stooped than usual. She slipped both her arms around Patsy’s middle and when her fingers found the rough seams of the pockets she rested her face briefly against the rough fabric and gave the taller woman a tender squeeze as she fished for the cool, smooth shaft of the key. At the sensation Patsy straightened up and gave a low, tired moan. Delia extricated herself, reached past Patsy’s arm and pushed the key into the chamber. As she tried to turn it she was met with complete resistance. She tried again. Nothing. Patsy dropped her left hand from where she had been fussing the head of the dog cradled in the crook of her right elbow and gentle eased her fingers onto the key, displacing those of Delia, who stood back and pressed her fingers against her lips. Patsy tried for what felt like minutes. The key was resolutely straight in the lock.

‘Anything?’ asked Delia, hopefully.

‘Sorry old thing, it isn’t budging.’ Patsy sighed heavily and stood back. Delia gazed at her, panic and tiredness rising.

‘What would Nan do? Can we contact her?’

‘I’m sure I have absolutely no idea,’ replied Patsy, incredulous. ‘Brute force perhaps? It is worth a punt. I’m afraid you are going to have to hold, dog.’

‘Can’t she just sit on the floor?’ asked Delia hopefully, eying the bundle of fur and energy as Patsy turned to face her.

‘One thing I certainly cannot face, at 2 O’clock in the morning, in the middle of December, is chasing a puppy round Scotland.’ Patsy’s attempt at humour was dry as dust and Delia winced, attempting to muster her courage. She reached out two stiff arms and scooped the dog from Patsy’s protection, the bridge between thumb and forefinger resting underneath thin forelegs. Paddling the air the puppy strained to make contact with something firm and without realising what was happening Delia found herself cradling the dog against her chest, a head tucked comfortably into the crook of Delia’s neck. Instinctively, as if holding a newborn Delia’s hands slipped into a supportive position around posterior and shoulders. The warmth radiated by the dog surprised her and she laid a flat hand against the soft fur of the back.

‘Success!’ exclaimed Patsy, turning in triumph. Her face split into a wide grin at the sight of Delia cradling the puppy. ‘We’re in. Although in all of the time since we lost that first flat and we dreamed of a new place where we could be together, I don’t think I ever imagined that you’d be carrying another girl over the threshold.’

‘Fool,’ said Delia good-naturedly, following Patsy into the hallway. She gave a tired sigh as she moved into the small kitchen and placed the dog on the floor. She looked through the kitchen cupboards until she found what she was looking for. Within seconds the puppy was lapping water from a shallow dish, heavily decorated with pink roses and light green foliage.

‘For somebody who purports to dislike dogs you seem remarkably keen on welcoming our new houseguest,’ said Patsy, watching, amused from the kitchen door. ‘I’m feeling distinctly jealous.’

‘Well, we can’t have that.’ Delia smiled, despite her exhaustion. She looked at Patsy, framed, as if she had been painted, by the dark wooden door jamb. Leaving the dog happily sniffing around the kitchen she moved to the figure, still clad in her winter coat. Reaching up she ran her hands over Patsy’s lapels and Patsy bent slightly. With practised ease Delia’s fingers found the back of the other woman’s head, her thumb lightly brushing a chilled cheek. As the kiss lingered and Patsy snaked her arms around Delia’s middle Delia began to smile and the two separated, but Patsy linked her fingers and Delia settled her lower back against the familiar pressure.

‘Now, I could get used to that. We never did _that_ in the kitchen at Nonnatus!’ laughed Delia.

‘Well? We could now? You once said to me that you wished we could shut the world out, close the door at night. I remember thinking that I must have turned bright scarlet – I’m sure we were somewhere public.’ Delia laughed  again as Patsy’s voice lowered to a murmur, as if they could still be overheard.  ‘But look around us now Deels. We have somewhere that’s ours, we can make a life here, be together.’

Patsy moved her hands to Delia’s hips and tugged her closer, dipping her head until Delia raised her hands to her hair and she found lips again. When they stepped apart Delia, dropped her hands and clasped them around the back of the taller woman’s neck, rested her forehead against Patsy’s still bent head and smiled softly.

‘You make a persuasive argument Pats, I’ll give you that.’

‘I think this flat is rather splendid, we can do as we please to it as we own it.’ Patsy looked around the kitchen, at the dog sniffing at the crease where the tiles met the skirting board and then back at Delia. ‘What do you think?’

‘Tonight has certainly proved to me that I still want to nurse. I am assuming they have hospitals in Scotland?’ said Delia. Patsy gave a chuckle, her right cheek lifting in a half smile.

‘After all the jibes about provincial living you got at training school, I’m shocked at you Delia Busby!’

Delia ignored her and glanced at the single piece of crockery sitting on the floor, surrounded by a puddle of water.

‘That china is going immediately, I hate floral.’

Patsy laughed and was about to reply when, the dog, satisfied with her exploration, gave a large huff and turned into circles until she flopped onto the tiles and rested her head on two scruffy paws. Both women turned to look.

‘She looks to have made herself quite at home,’ said Patsy, amused. ‘She really is a sight though, heaven knows what breed she is.’

‘Don’t listen dog!’ called Delia, deliberately melodramatic. ‘I think you look magnificent, like Greta Garbo in Anna Karenina.’

Busby, you are quite brilliant sometimes,’ cried Patsy.

‘Am I?’ Delia looked back to Patsy, bemused at the source of her sudden enthusiasm.

‘Garbo – that’s the perfect name for her.’ Patsy clasped her hands together in delight and stooped as she approached the dog who gazed up at her and beat her tail on the hard floor. ‘What do you think?’

Patsy stood upright, the puppy between her hands as she turned back to Delia.

‘Are you asking me or the dog?’ asked Delia, shaking her head slightly.

‘Both?’ said Patsy as she returned to her previous position in front of Delia by the kitchen door. Patsy nuzzled the top of the dog’s head. ‘You’re so beautiful aren’t you? Huh? Just perfect.’

‘Who are you talking to now?’ Delia smiled, teasing.  

‘Both of you! Always,’ said Patsy as she leant across the puppy’s head and pressed a kiss gently against Delia’s waiting lips. 'Both of you, welcome home.'


End file.
